


Home Sweet Home

by SnowSlayer



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer
Summary: Scaramouche was happy to co-sign on his boyfriends new apartment. He's just not exactly sure if this particular apartment is well suited for the new homeowner.
Relationships: Francis/Scaramouche, franmouche





	Home Sweet Home

Home Sweet Home

There was absolutely nowhere Scaramouche wanted to set the box of Francis’ most expensive possessions they had cleared out from Scaramouche’s suite. The other three bags Francis had lugged up eight flights of stairs (the elevator was broken, and seemed like it had been that way for at least the last five years) were strewn right by the door as the smaller bot bounded into the room. The windowsill ledge was just a bit too narrow. There was a disgusting stain of brown and crusted black on the lone chair in the room that Scaramouche dared not investigate.

Relenting, he gingerly placed the box on the dust and grime layered floor. His boots were going to need to be deep cleaned after this. Hell, with all the dust in the air, so would his coat and scarf!

“Do you own _any_ furniture, babe?”

“Nope. I’ve got the mat you got me to sleep on. I can probably get the chair clean enough, maybe reupholster it.” Francis had approached the window and was staring out at the view. Scaramouche approached, letting out a fake cough as he flicked the blinds and a cloud of dust puffed into the air. Francis hardly noticed. He glanced toward his right and rushed into the kitchen to investigate.

“So what’s the backstory on this, babe? Just a good price?”

“Oui. The previous tenant died and they didn’t find the body for months. Since they have to disclose it, no one wanted the place.” Even as he said this, his face was split into a wide grin as he opened and closed the cabinets in the small space. Scaramouche grimaced at that. On top of the ever growing list of things Francis really should have for his first place was now a heavy duty air freshener. Maybe he should gift him a house cleaning service. It would probably cost an arm and a leg he mused as Francis pried open the fridge door, caked shut with mold to reveal that it had not been cleaned out before it was sold to him.

“You know you need other pots and pans, right, babe? That’s an electric stove and your oil’s never going to heat evenly in those warped old pots you hunt with.”

“It’ll be fine!” Francis insisted. He slammed the fridge shut and led the way to the sole bedroom in the apartment. Scaramouche trailed after him, running a finger along the wall. He inspected the grime that came away and the boring gold paint that had faded to a stained yellow. There was no way he could tell what the original color of the carpet had been.

“Oh! There’s some hangers left in the closet! Perfect!”

“ _Please_ wash those at least twice before you use ‘em, babe,” Scaramouche begged, risking a peak into the bathroom. It was as bad as he feared and he happily moved away as Francis ducked in joyfully.

“Tell me, babe, how many friends do you have?” Scaramouche had retreated back to the living room, carefully looking anywhere but the chair.

“Why do you ask?” Scaramouche just shrugged. “Well, there’s you and I guess Knox, my bounty hunting trainer. Oh! And the innkeeper? You know, the ghost angel?” Scaramouche snorted at the last part. Sure, the innkeeper was nice, especially fond of Francis he had noted, although Scaramouche highly doubted she could provide much of a house warming gift. He was honestly surprised she kept the inn open and running with how generous she seemed to be.

“Just seeing who you’d be getting a house warming gift from, babe,” he answered lightly. Francis waved it off.

“I can take care of things. It’ll just be slow going. Besides, I don’t need much else.” Scaramouche bit his tongue as his eyes flicked over to Francis’ meager stack of belongings.

“Well I’d like to get you something, babe! What’s the number one thing you wish you had in here?” He asked boldly, the smile just shy of the one he bestowed upon his targets although his eyes held more warmth than they would ever see in their last seconds of life. Francis paused a second to ponder, the first time since they had arrived at the building that the grin was absent from his face.

“I’d really like a grow light.” It came out very quietly, almost ashamed. He cast his eyes down, prodding another unknown stain in the hardwood floor with the toe of his boot.

“Sure, babe. I’m getting you a nice one though!” Scaramouche grinned. He knew the whole backstory, knew that Francis hated to have to want from others after the years of abuse and denial. Francis glanced up, a soft smile back on his lips. “Plus twelve gallons of all-purpose cleaner, seven bottles of bleach, five gallons of primer, four heavy duty air fresheners … and a partridge in a pear tree,” he sang the last bit. Francis snorted in amusement.

“Now come on, babe, you’re sleeping in a hotel tonight.” Francis started to protest as Scaramouche snagged the overnight bag and batted the dirt off. “I will tie you to the bed if I have to. Your processors are going to jam with all this filth in the air. We’ll pick up cleaning stuff in the morning. Too bad they don’t sell elbow grease in a can, huh, babe? Well, I guess they do, but that brand sucks.”

“You know the real deal has always been better,” Francis teased, snatching the bag out of Scaramouche’s hand and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I don’t suppose your friend Knox is gonna help, is he, babe?”

“Non, he’s too busy working at his bar.” Scaramouche cast another skeptical glance into the small apartment as Francis pulled the door closed and locked it.

“I suppose it’s up to me to help you, babe. Someone has to teach you a thing or two about interior design! You think the garden center is still open at this hour?” Francis hugged him a little harder as Scaramouche led them back down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SalaciousShipping and SapphireSins for allowing me to borrow Francis and their Franmouche ideas! You can find more information about Salacious Shipping's artwork here (https://twitter.com/salaciousships?lang=en).


End file.
